


The Very First Words of a Lifelong Love Letter

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (not larry's sorry), American Louis Tomlinson, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Campaign 2 (Critical Role), First Meetings, Formalwear, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, New York City, No Sex, Online Friendship, Slow Dancing, Tourism, Twitter, Weddings, so like... don't read just for boinking cause there ain't any just a lot of, they get pretty hot and heavy but i wasn't in the mood and kept dodging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: The prompt I picked was (lightly edited): "Harry and Louis have been best friends ever since they met through fandom (I picked Critical Role) twitter. Person A (I picked Louis) lives in New York City and Person B (Harry) lives in the UK. They’ve never met in person but they FaceTime and text daily. Person B’s cousin is getting married to a rich American who’s paying for the entire family to travel to The Hamptons for a summer wedding. Are Harry and Louis ready to meet?"~*~Harry thought he was just imagining things when the flower girl looked like one of the twins, but -- he’s almost certain that groomsman is Louis. The pictures he's seen haven't been the best quality, granted, but he knows Louis. He does.Harry stares wide-eyed as he walks down the aisle in step with the bridesmaid, taking their places on either side of the stage. As they turn to look out into the audience, Harry’s strong suspicion solidifies into certainty. That’s Louis. He’d bet his life on it.But Louis doesn’t look at him, and it’s not like Harry can wave. He can only stare, mouth still hanging half-open. Suddenly, as much as he loves weddings, he can’t wait for this one to be over.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 198
Collections: HL Summer Fest 2020





	The Very First Words of a Lifelong Love Letter

Harry wakes with a jolt as the overhead speaker on the airplane crackles to life, announcing their final descent. He yawns and stretches, his neck stiff from the cramped airplane seat, trying to cling to the fragments of the dream he was having -- it was pleasant, he knows, but all he can remember is purple cloth and warm hands and the feeling of joy that still hums in his chest. 

He looks out the window, waiting for the plane to break through the clouds. He doesn’t want to miss his first glimpse of the city. Gemma crowds in beside him, chin digging into his shoulder.

“Leave room for me, squirt,” she says. Harry elbows her in the ribs, but acquiesces. They’re both excited.

It seems to come from nowhere. One moment, the clouds are thick and white and all-encompassing, and the next the air is clear and New York City is spread out beneath them like a giant tapestry. It seems to go on forever, like an infinite city, and it takes Harry’s breath away.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, eyes wide as if to take in as much as possible -- but he knows he’ll never be able to take it all in, or even come close. There’s just too much. 

He still has every intention of taking in as much as he can in the short time he has available. And he’s picked out his guide already.

He reaches for his phone, unlocking it before remembering that they’re still in the air, meaning wifi and texting are off-limits for a little while longer. He starts drafting the message in Notes anyways, so it’ll be ready to send off to Louis as soon as the overhead lights give permission.

_ Just touched down in NYC! Can’t believe I get to meet you in person in two days!  _

Does having two sentences in a row with exclamation points make him seem too excited? But they’re both exciting statements… but he doesn’t want to come off as too much…

Gemma leans in over his shoulder. “You should add that you’re in love with him,” she says helpfully.

Harry jerks his phone away from her eyes. “Shut up,” he says. “I will not. I am not.”

“You  _ are _ texting your Twitter boyfriend, are you not?” Gemma presses. “Or rather, preparing to text him by carefully scripting out the extremely mundane message for maximum casualness?”

Harry really hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. He’s not optimistic. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So the rest of it is true. Good.”

“That’s not -- I hate you.”

Gemma leans into his side. “You really don’t,” she says. “But you really should just tell him.”

“To what end?” Harry asks. “I’ve never even met the guy. We live on different continents, for pity’s sake.”

“Long distance, schlong distance,” Gemma says. “You’ve been talking to him for what, two years now?”

“Two and a half.” He’d first connected with Twitter user @vaxildamn when the account had posted a comment on the Gilmore cosplay he’d put together for London Comic Con. He’d been super nervous about it -- it was his first cosplay, and he wasn’t sure if Critical Role would be well known enough for anyone to recognize who he was dressed as. When he’d posted it on Twitter, he’d been second-guessing whether he should just keep the costume for himself and default back to a normal fandom t-shirt for the convention.

But then @vaxildamn had Tweeted him:  _ This is an amazing costume, and you really capture Gilmore’s physicality (not just because you’re gorgeous  _ _ 😉 _ _ ) Have fun at Comic Con -- I bet a ton of people will want photos! _

Harry had followed him and reached back, thanking him, and minutes later he received a DM asking about how he made the jacket. Harry had answered eagerly, and before long they were trading favourite episodes and headcanons and theories. By the time Comic Con happened a month later (and Harry had indeed gotten more than a dozen requests for photos), they were texting more days than not, and a month after that they started FaceTiming every couple of weeks. And a month after that, Harry had realized that he was head over heels for this bright-eyed, vibrant, New York City boy. 

It was pointless, of course. Not that it mattered to his heart. Harry had stayed quiet, content with friendship, happy to just be in Louis’ life. And he was genuinely happy. 

But he’d definitely been even happier when they’d received the invitation in the mail to his cousin’s wedding in the Hamptons. He hadn’t seen Lara in years since she’d moved to the US for university and work, and he’d never even heard of Jackson Boyer, but it hardly mattered --  _ he was going to New York! _ When he’d texted the news to Louis, it had taken less than a minute for him to offer to show him around. It had taken less than a second for Harry to type back  _ YES!!! _

He feels the plane bump as the wheels touch pavement, jolting him back to the present. Gemma is still talking next to him, and she pauses for a moment then snorts. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you.” It’s not a question.

“Was it worth hearing?” Harry asks, digging for the bag stowed under the seat. He shoves his jacket and headphones in, zipping it closed in readiness as they taxi to the gate. 

The sign forbidding phones flips off, and Harry immediately pulls out his phone. A few taps later, the message is sent. 

“That was fast,” Gemma says.

“Shut up.”

Anne’s voice emerges from the row behind them, startling them out of their argument. “Do you both have everything?” 

“Yes Mum,” they chorus.

“Passports accessible?”

“Yes Mum.”

“Anyone need to pee, or can you hold it until after customs?”

“ _Mum!_ ”

~*~*~

Harry can’t hold back a gasp as he walks into the cathedral the following afternoon. It’s just -- huge. And beautifully decorated. Harry has never been particularly religious, but he can’t help feeling awed at the massive stained glass panels and the intricate paintings that grace the walls. There are flowers and ribbons carefully arranged across all the backs of the seats, and a massive sign on the stage proclaims, “WELCOME TO THE WEDDING OF JACKSON AND LARA.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by the grandiosity anymore, he muses as he slips into a pew, Gemma and Anne sliding in beside him. Not after they’d arrived at the hotel, and each been given their own room, paid for by Jackson. Not after he’d discovered the Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. Not after the posh dinner in the hotel restaurant, which they charged to the room. 

He’d known Jackson was wealthy, but he hadn’t realized just  _ how  _ wealthy. But apparently he’s not only rich, he also wants everyone to know it. He can’t decide whether to be concerned for Lara or impressed by her. 

The music starts playing before Harry can think too hard on it, and he quickly turns to watch as the wedding procession begins. Parents, bridesmaids, groomsmen, all slowly make their way down the aisle, all wearing elaborate dresses or suits and beaming smiles. Flower girls precede each pair, covering the ground with layer after layer of rose petals.

The fourth of the flower girls catches Harry’s eye. She looks oddly familiar, and after a moment he realizes that she reminds him of one of Louis’ sisters. He smiles to himself. He’s got Louis on the brain. That’s for tomorrow, though. Not every blonde American girl is related to Louis. 

He’s so caught up in watching the little girl scatter her petals that he almost misses the entrance of the next pair. He looks back up towards the doorway just in time to see the next bridesmaid and groomsman step through -- and his jaw drops.

Okay, he’d thought he was just imagining things when the flower girl looked like one of the twins, but that -- he’s almost certain that’s Louis. He’s seen Louis far more often -- mostly through somewhat shoddy phone cameras, granted, mixed with the occasional selfie, but he  _ knows  _ Louis. That’s Louis.

He stares wide-eyed as the pair walk down the aisle in step, then take their places on either side of the stage. As they turn to look out into the audience, Harry’s strong suspicion solidifies into certainty. That’s Louis. He’d bet his life on it.

But Louis doesn’t look at him, and it’s not like Harry can wave. He can only stare, mouth still hanging half-open. Suddenly, as much as he loves weddings, he can’t wait for this one to be over.

Gemma nudges him. “What’s gotten into you?” she murmurs, lips barely moving.

Harry nods at the stage. “That’s Louis,” he whispers. 

Gemma’s eyes widen. “ _Your _ Louis?” she whispers, just a little too loudly. Anne shushes her, and her voice drops slightly as she continues. “Hot Louis? Twitter Louis? Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

Gemma looks back at the stage, and Harry can almost hear the low whistle that he knows she’s repressing because of the setting. 

“Yeah,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

Harry’s heart is in his throat. “I have no idea.”

~*~*~

Harry remembers absolutely none of the ceremony. It’s a bit of a shame, as he’s sure it was very nice, and he’s never been to a wedding in such a fancy cathedral before (or any American wedding, though he supposes they can’t be all that different from the UK), but he just finds himself staring at Louis the entire time. 

Louis is  _ here_. Louis, who has been on the other side of the world for as long as Harry has known him. Louis, who Harry has dreamed about meeting for literal years. Louis is  _ in the same room as him_. 

And then suddenly, the ceremony is over, the wedding party sweeping back down the aisle and into limousines. Louis has vanished out the door before Harry can even think of getting to his feet. Not that standing would have helped, since he was in the middle of the pew and Louis was busy and really it wouldn’t have done anything but draw undue attention to him for breaking social protocols. And it’s not like he’s gone forever, he’ll be at the reception, and even if they somehow miss each other there they’ve made plans to meet up tomorrow.

But still, it somehow feels like he’s missed something, the air suddenly pulled from his lungs and the room suddenly much chillier than it was a moment ago. 

He dazedly stands with the rest of the guests, following Anne and Gemma into the aisle. He’s silent as they make their way out of the chapel and are ushered into a small army of hired cars. He barely hears a word that anyone says, everything fading into the background as all he can think is  _ Louis _ and  _ he’s here  _ and  _ what do I say  _ and  _ I’m not ready  _ and  _ oh God this is happening  _ and  _ does my hair look okay  _ and-

“Harry?” Anne’s voice tugs him out of the swirl of thoughts, the concern in her tone suggesting this isn’t the first time she’s said his name. “Are you all right?”

He looks down at his hands. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just… a bit overwhelmed.”

“Do you need to lie down?” she asks. “You don’t have to come to the reception; you could go back up to the room and-”

“I’ll be fine, Mum,” Harry says again. “I just -- I was thinking about something. Nothing to worry about.”

“Is it too warm?” Anne asks anyways. “I think there’s some water in the minifridge here.” She rummages around to her left, and Harry shakes his head. Of course the car has a minifridge.

“Yeah, I think Harry was just a little thirsty,” Gemma says, grinning wickedly. “Ouch! Don’t kick me; you’ll rip my hose.”

“Don’t deserve to be kicked, then,” Harry mutters back. He accepts the bottle of water Anne hands him, cracking the cap and taking a long sip. “Thanks, Mum. I’ll be fine, I promise. Dinner will help, I’m sure.”

“I bet it will,” Gemma murmurs, so low even Harry can barely hear. “Cause you’ll get a chance to feast your eyes on -- ow!”

~*~*~

After the fifth time he looks over to the table where Louis is sitting, Harry feels Gemma’s elbow in his ribs.

“Go fucking talk to him.”

Harry frowns at her. “And say what?”

“Literally anything,” Gemma says. “I’m sure it would still be better than that creepy love-stare you’re doing now.”

“I’m not-”

“You are and you know it.”

Harry puts his head down on the table and groans. He let slip  _ one time _ that he thought @vaxildamn was cute and Gemma convinced herself that Harry was in love with him. Which he kind of was, but that wasn’t the point. 

“I’m not going to walk up to him and say, ‘Hi, we’ve never met but I’m in love with you.’”

Gemma cackles. “Your words, not mine,” she says. “I didn’t say anything about confessing the massive crush that you totally definitely don’t have. That was all you.”

Harry feels his face flush. “You were thinking it.”

“Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t,” Gemma says. “But you’re right, that might be creepier than the love-stare.” She bumps her foot against his. “I’m serious. Just say hi. Introduce yourself. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Harry grips the table, trying to collect the nerve to stand. He has to admit he wants to go over. But it’s still terrifying. “What if it’s not him?”

“You think you don’t recognize the guy you’re in love with?”

“No -- yes -- I don’t -- I’m not in love with him.” Harry sighs. “I just worry I might be imagining him, or like, projecting. Because I know he lives here, and I’m meeting him tomorrow, and so I’m thinking about him and maybe I just  _ think _ it’s him because I’m, like, subconsciously looking for him.”

“Is that likely?”

“I don’t know, I just-”

“Harry.” Gemma grips him by the arm. “Go talk to him. Just say hi. If he doesn’t recognize you, you come back and it’s fine. And if he does…” She trails off, grinning and waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes Harry’s face turn even redder. 

“You make it sound like I’m going to drop to my knees on the dance floor,” he mutters.

Gemma laughs again. “I recommend taking him upstairs first,” she says. “But you do you, brother. It’s your modesty. Well, and his.”

“Shut up.” There’s no bite in it, and they both know it. He presses his hands to his cheeks, trying to draw out some of the heat. “Do I look okay?”

“You look great,” Gemma says. “Ravishing, even.”

“I’m ignoring that,” Harry says, standing and walking away. 

His legs feel like they just might give out beneath him, each step taking effort, but Harry carefully crosses the dining room to the groomsmen’s table. Louis is talking to someone beside him, and Harry hovers a few steps away before plucking up the courage to walk up to them.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt but-”

Louis looks up and his jaw drops. “Holy  _ fuck_.” He blinks several times, as though he can hardly believe his eyes. “Are you -- is this really -- what the  _ fuck?” _

Harry can’t help laughing as Louis jumps to his feet. “Hi,” he says.

“Louis?” says the guy Louis had been talking to. “What are you-”

“Sorry Liam,” Louis says. “I just -- this is a friend of mine. I didn’t expect to see  _ you  _ here!”

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” Harry says. He starts to hold out a hand to shake, then pauses. “Can I give you a hug?”

Louis doesn’t even pause to answer before pulling him in, practically squeezing the air from Harry’s lungs. Harry can barely breathe, but he responds instinctively, wrapping his arms around Louis and tucking his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. He inhales, his nose filling with a soft, spicy cologne, mixed with a warm, human scent that somehow smells like home. 

Fuck, he’s so far gone for this boy. And he’s only just met him.

He slowly realizes that maybe they’ve been hugging a little too long, but Louis’ arms are still solid and warm and unwavering around him and he doesn’t want to let go. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for -- years, really,” Harry murmurs.

“Me too,” Louis says. He squeezes one more time, then pulls back, Harry reluctantly releasing his own grip. “Let me look at you,” Louis says, still holding Harry’s shoulders as he steps back, examining him at arms’ length. “It’s different when it’s not through a shitty webcam.”

“It is.” Harry tries not to let his eyes linger on the way Louis’ suit hugs his curves, accentuating his biceps and his bum. “And we’ve never been this dressed up on those calls.”

Louis laughs. “It is a bit more of a formal occasion,” he says. “You look good, man.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hoping his cheeks aren’t turning pink again. “You too, Lou.”

The sound of a bell suddenly rings, and they both turn to see waiters rolling carts full of food into the room. 

“Oh, damn,” Louis says. “You should probably get back to your seat -- I think Jackson has gone as all-out on the food as on everything else at this wedding. I’d invite you join our table, but-”

“I get it,” Harry says quickly. “Not a lot of room. You fellows are all too important.”

Louis laughs. “You’re important too,” he says. “I mean -- well, you know what I mean. But there’ll be time to catch up after dinner, I promise.” He points a playful finger at Harry. “I won’t let you get away that easily.”

Harry grins. “All right,” he says. “But I don’t want to miss all the dancing. Hope you can talk and dance.”

Louis laughs. “You’re on,” he says. “Now go -- enjoy the dinner. But be careful not to stuff yourself on the first few courses -- there are seven.”

Harry gapes at him. “Genuinely?”

“Yep.” Louis gives him a gentle shove. “Go, eat. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry feels like he’s in a daze as he walks back to his table. Gemma grins up at him as he approaches. “That looked like it went well,” she said. “It’s him, then?”

“It’s him,” Harry confirms. 

“He seemed to like you.”

“Of course,” Harry says. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“I meant -- oh, nevermind,” Gemma says. “You’re hopeless.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You were forty feet away,” he says. “Forgive me if I don’t put much stock in your observations.”

“How close do I have to be to see how long you guys hugged?” Gemma says. “Just ask him, Harry, seriously-”

Gemma’s words are interrupted by the waiters placing tiny plates in front of them, piled high with mushrooms practically brimming with melted cheese. Harry’s mouth starts to water just looking at them.

Gemma picks up her fork and spears one of them. “I’m not done with you,” she says, lifting it to her mouth. “But -- pause.”

Harry will take a pause. And the mushrooms are divine.

~*~*~

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Louis turns around on the dance floor with a smile that makes Harry’s insides squirm. “Harry! Finally, a chance to talk to you properly.”

Harry twirls in place. “Only if you can keep up with my sick moves,” he says. “So -- what the hell are you doing here? How do you know Jackson?” 

“I barely do,” Louis says, laughing. “We were in the same college frat, but we didn’t hang out much. But I hosted the party where he met Lara -- I didn’t even introduce them, but I guess he still attributes it to me. What about you?”

“Lara’s my cousin,” Harry says. “I haven’t seen her since she moved across the pond, so we didn’t really expect to be invited, but I mean -- I was down to take any excuse to come to New York.”

“That’s sweet.” Louis reaches out to squeeze Harry’s arm. “Well, I’m glad you did.” 

Harry smiles. “Me too,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound quite as soft as he feels.

The song changes to something slow. Louis gives Harry a grin, holding out a hand with a dramatic bow. “May I have this dance, good sir?”

Harry’s heart feels like it’s trying to pound its way out of his chest. He can’t decide if Louis is joking or not -- or rather, he knows Louis is joking, but maybe he’s serious too? Maybe? It’s not like it’s going to change his answer, but. You know.

He delicately places his hand in Louis. “You may,” he says.

He feels Louis’ other hand slide onto his hip, and he rests his own on Louis’ shoulder. They waltz for a moment, before Harry dissolves in giggles. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was just -- I love you.” His mouth snaps shut. “I mean, you’re hilarious, it’s great.”

“Glad to amuse you,” Louis says, still grinning, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. Louis tugs him closer, draping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry lets his own hands slide down to Louis’ sides, fingers running along his back. He wants to keep them moving, wants to feel every line of Louis’ ribcage, tug his shirt up in the back or slide his hands down to get a feel of Louis’ bum. It takes every ounce of his self control to hold them still, his breath shallow.

They sway like that, back and forth, comfortable and easy. Harry finds his eyes sliding shut, getting lost in the feeling of holding Louis in his arms, of being held by him, and he never wants it to stop.

The song comes to an end, moving into another that’s slightly more upbeat, but Harry and Louis don’t move. Harry feels Louis’ forehead press against his. 

“This is perfect,” Louis murmurs, and Harry doesn’t disagree in the slightest.

“Better than I could have dreamed,” he says.

Louis grins mischievously. “Dream about me often?” he asks.

Harry’s eyes fly open. “I didn’t -- I don’t-” 

“Relax,” Louis says, laughing. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Harry tries to breathe, to relax. “Okay,” he says. “I just -- okay.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. They sway for a moment again, completely out of time with the music, but neither of them care in the slightest. Harry can feel Louis’ breath against his mouth, and he has to resist the urge to lick his lips.

“Harry,” Louis says after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a little drunk.”

Harry giggles. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

“I really want to kiss you.”

Harry’s eyes pop open. “You -- you do?”

“Mmm.” Louis’ hand slides up Harry’s neck, his thumb brushing across Harry’s mouth. “Can I-”

“Yes,” Harry says breathlessly, before he can even finish the question. “Yes, please, Louis-”

And then Louis’ lips are on his, soft and warm and lush and Harry feels like all the blood in his body has suddenly risen two degrees in temperature, heat rushing through him from head to toe. He slides his hands along Louis’ back, pulling him closer, tighter, and he feels the well-tucked shirt start to pull free from Louis’ belt.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, digging his fingers into Harry’s neck in a way that sends shivers down Harry’s spine. “You’re so -- fuck.”

“Mmm.” Words don’t cut it, can’t begin to describe this. Also, he’s forgotten all the words. All he knows is the feeling of Louis’ mouth and the taste of his tongue and the heat of his skin and he never wants to stop. He wants to keep going and going and going until Louis is all he can taste, until every inch of Louis’ skin smells like him. 

He hears Gemma’s voice whisper in his head,  _ I recommend taking him upstairs first,  _ and he breaks away, panting. “Do you…” His voice is hoarse. He clears his throat. “Do you want to come up to my room?”

Louis’ eyes are dark, his lips red and swollen. “Okay,” he says.

~*~*~

Harry tries not to look around for whose eyes are on them as they slip out of the hotel ballroom. It’s not that he thinks anyone really cares about a pair of adults in search of a private space. It’s mostly just that he doesn’t want to see Gemma’s waggling eyebrows and I-told-you-so grin. He’d like to be able to look her in the eyes tomorrow, if at all possible.

The elevator doors open as soon as Louis presses the button, and he tugs Harry inside. Harry barely has time to press the button for his floor before Louis is pressing him against the mirrored wall, kissing him in a way that makes Harry think he just might pass out. Louis’ kisses are deep and needy, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Harry is helpless to do anything but wrap his arms around him and hold on for dear life. 

They both jump when the door dings open, and then they’re giggling as Harry tugs Louis out of the elevator and down the hall. He has to let go of Louis’ hand for a moment as he unlocks the door to his room with hands that are only a little shaky. He pushes open the door, motioning grandly inside. 

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

Louis laughs as he walks through, and Harry follows, pausing to throw the deadbolt. He thinks for a moment, then slides on the security chain as well, mentally thanking Jackson for being ostentatious enough to give everyone their own room. He turns, giddy and grinning, to see Louis surveying the room.

“Are those candles yours?” he asks suddenly.

Harry bites his lip. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “They’re artificial, but. The scent reminds me of home.”

“And these books,” Louis says, touching a small stack on the desk. “You brought them all this way? Are you planning to read all of them, or just have them?”

“Both?” Harry says. “I mean, it’s a long plane ride, not to mention all the time in the airport. But some of them I’ve practically memorized. I just like to have them with me.” He takes off his jacket, hanging it carefully in the closet to keep it from wrinkling.

Louis runs a hand along the spines. “Tamora Pierce, Madeline Miller, Rumi -- and of course, the  _ Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount_. Who could leave home without it?” He shoots Harry a teasing grin, and Harry laughs and pokes him.

“Oh, shove off, you. It relaxes me. I like to read it before bed.”

Louis presses a hand to his chest, feigning affront. “Are you saying that the great Matthew Mercer puts you to sleep?”

“I am saying that, and it’s a compliment,” Harry says, laughing. “It’s nice to escape into another world for a little while. To worry about their problems instead of mine. It only works because it feels so real, because it’s so immersive.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” Harry says. He sits down on the bed, bouncing slightly, watching as Louis prowls around the room, opening drawers and cabinets and asking questions..

“You might be the only person I’ve ever met who actually  _ unpacks _ in a hotel.”

“I only have three days worth of clothes. It’s not like it’s a lot of effort.”

“You’re here for three days but you brought how many pairs of shoes?”

“...four. Everyday, comfy, formal, and pool.” 

“Right, right. Totally normal.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry grabs Louis by the wrist as he passes by and tugs him onto the bed beside him. “How much do you really expect to learn about me from a hotel room that you haven’t learned about me in three years of being online friends?”

Louis laughs. “There’s always something,” he says. He flops back on the bed. “This is a pretty sweet room.”

“Jackson knows how to splurge,” Harry says, lying back as well. “I wonder if he bought out the whole hotel. Gemma and Anne aren’t even on this floor.”

“Good,” Louis says, grinning. “Then they won’t hear anything.”

He moves closer, Harry eagerly turning into the kiss. This time, the touch is softer, gentler. Harry feels Louis’ fingers trace along his face, feather light, then run down his arm. He runs a finger along Louis’ chin, feeling the faintest roughness of a five o’clock shadow against his skin as he tilts Louis’ head up, deepening the kiss. But for all the heat of mouths, for all the eagerness of hands, for all the urgency of five minutes ago, it suddenly feels like the fire has -- not cooled, it’s still there, certainly, but -- moved to the backburner, perhaps. 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“What if we just -- talked?” 

Louis pulls away immediately, his face contrite. “Do you not want-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Harry kisses him again, soft and slow, before pulling away. “I just -- I know we don’t have that long, but we don’t need to rush it, you know? This is the first chance we’ve had to, you know, hang out. We don’t have to jump straight to-”

“Fucking like rabbits?” Louis’ grin is wide and toothy, and Harry reddens slightly, swallowing hard.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it more than I care to admit.” Louis’ grin widens just a little bit more. “I just want to, you know, savour it a little,” Harry continues. “And, like, make the most of our time together. I have a feeling once we start we won’t want to stop, and I still want to see New York.”

Louis laughs. “Not the kind of guy to put out on the first date?”

“First of all, that depends on the guy and the date,” Harry says. “Second of all, you haven’t actually taken me on a date yet -- your cousin’s wedding does not count. And third of all, assuming tomorrow’s dinner goes well, I fully expect to have you naked in my bed for dessert.”

Louis laughs again, his eyes dancing. “Acceptable,” he says. “But for fuck’s sake, can I at least take off this damn tie?”

“I’ll allow it,” Harry says, grinning. “Hell, I’ll even let you take off your shirt, if you’d like.”

Louis pokes Harry in the chest, his fingers walking up the buttons. “So generous,” he says. “So naughty. I’ll take my shirt off, but only if you take off yours too.”

Harry cackles. “What is this, strip poker? Chicken? You’ll show me yours if I show you mine?”

Louis sticks his nose in the air, the picture of prim propriety. “If you don’t like the terms, you don’t get the titties,” he says. 

“Oh, I have no issue with the terms,” Harry says, already unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m just going to tease you anyways.”

The grin returns. “Fair enough.”

A minute later, their shirts and jackets are just so many piles of fabric on the floor, their shoes kicked off into a corner somewhere. Harry thinks about getting rid of the tight pants too, but decides against it for now. He suspects that might be… distracting. And he really does want to just enjoy Louis’ company for a bit.

So instead, he curls himself into Louis’ arms, rests his head on Louis’ bare chest, listens to the steady sound of Louis’ heartbeat and his breathing. 

And suddenly he realizes he has no idea what to say.

They’ve talked so much already, is the thing. Harry already knows so much about Louis; how much getting to know each other is really left? He knows his family, his hobbies, his school plans. What is there to talk about that they haven’t discussed a hundred times? 

“You know,” Louis says after a moment, “I started writing a Vax’ilmore fic last month that was a little like this.”

Harry smiles. “Did you, now?” he says. “Where they met up at a wedding and-" 

“No, not quite that precise,” Louis says, smiling. “Just… coming together after a long separation. Realizing how much they mean to each other. Curling up together in bed. You know.” He rubs his fingers along Harry’s neck. “It got a little sappy, and once I realized it was basically straight up wish fulfillment, well. I got embarrassed and stopped writing.”

“Isn’t that half the point of fic?” Harry asks.

Louis chuckles. “Sometimes,” he says. “But it’s a little different when you’re second guessing if the person you keep thinking about will figure out your inspiration, you know?”

Harry smiles. “I’d love to read it sometime,” he says. “Whether you finish it or not.”

“To feed your ego?” Louis pokes Harry’s cheek. “Don’t wanna give you a swelled head.”

“I’ll let you see the pining playlist I made,” Harry offers. “Maybe even the terrible poetry.”

Louis makes a strangled sound, his arms tightening around Harry. “You wrote poetry about me?”

Harry ducks his head. “Maybe?” 

Louis’ fingers dig into Harry’s skin in a way that sends shivers down his spine. “Fuck, I didn’t think I could be more attracted to you.”

Harry laughs. “Get used to it,” he says. “I’m very attractive.”

“I’ve noticed,” Louis says drily. “I thought you were trying  _ not  _ to have me rip your clothes off tonight.”

Harry laughs again. “To be fair, I never said I’d make it easy,” he says. “But if you need help -- what do you think the odds are that the Mighty Nein will ever meet Gilmore? Because I want it.”

Louis gasps. “Oh yes _please,_ ” he says. “That would be  _ amazing. _ I don’t know what would be funnier -- how flustered Fjord would be at the flirting, or how completely oblivious Caduceus would be.” 

“Both,” Harry says. “As a card-carrying bisexual, I can tell you that the answer is always both.”

~*~*~

Harry wakes up wrapped in Louis’ arms, his soft breath warm on Harry’s neck. Harry smiles. He could get used to this. 

He tries not to think about the intercontinental flight scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It’s not important, not worth dwelling on. They have today. That’s enough. 

He twists in Louis’ arms, feeling Louis shift and mutter as he moves. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. He feels Louis’ hand rise, cupping the back of his head on instinct, even half-awake. Louis’ thumb brushes across Harry’s cheek as he pulls away, looking down at Louis’ face painted golden by the morning light. Louis’ eyes open slowly.

“I could get used to this,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.

Harry smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Same.” He kisses him again, soft and sweet and short, then throws back the blankets in a smooth motion. “Come on,” he says. “Up and at ‘em. New York is waiting.”

Louis flings an arm over his eyes, groaning. “God, why do you have to be a morning person?” he asks. “You kept me up until butt o’clock last night talking, and now you want to get up at this ungodly hour? It’s cruelty.”

“First of all, it’s currently the middle of the afternoon in England,” Harry says, digging through the dresser drawers for the outfit he picked out for this day back home. Looking at it now, he wonders if it’s trying too hard -- after all, he’s already got Louis’ half naked in his bed. But he knows the jeans will make his bum look amazing, and will be far less comfortable on an eight-hour airplane flight. “Second of all, you can’t really blame me for keeping you up last night -- it was a little more mutual than that. In fact, I tried to get you to go to bed three times before you finally gave in. And third of all, if I wasn’t a morning person, you’d go to bed before I got up. Most of our talks have been when I was up early in the morning and you were up late. Don’t complain.”

“M’not complaining,” Louis says grumpily. 

Harry bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I’m learning so much about you already,” he says. “And here you thought we already knew all there was to know about each other.”

This at least draws a crooked smile from Louis, half-hidden beneath his elbow though it may be. “Come on,” Harry presses. “Breakfast is only open until nine. And I want waffles.”

Louis groans again. “Five more minutes.” 

Harry piles the clothes over his arm, turning towards the bathroom. “If you’re not out of bed by the time I’m dressed, I will tickle you out,” he says. “That’s a threat.”

Louis lifts his arm just enough for one eye to peer out balefully. “Traitor,” he says. “How dare you use that against me?”

“I won’t have to if you get out of bed,” Harry says, smiling innocently. He disappears into the bathroom before Louis can muster another retort. 

Seven and a half minutes later, Harry has taken a quick shower, towelled his hair to mostly dry, squeezed into the jeans, and buttoned and unbuttoned his shirt six times. Doing it up to the top is too formal, but how many buttons down is the line between sexy and trying too hard? 

When he steps out of the bathroom, he’s still fiddling with the fourth button. He looks up just in time to see Louis jerk up from where he’s sprawled off the end of bed. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” Louis says, and to be fair he is dressed, albeit in the same clothes from the night before, now slightly wrinkled. He takes one look at Harry, and slumps back onto the bed. “Never mind. I am deceased. What the  _ fuck,  _ Harry? I thought you wanted to leave this hotel room?”

Harry bursts out laughing, crossing the room to the bed. “Keep your tongue in your mouth,” he says, reaching for Louis’ hands and pulling him to a sitting position.

“Keep your  _ tits  _ in your  _ shirt,_” Louis retorts. “Jesus, Harry, you could  _ warn  _ a guy.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Harry says grinning. “Gilmore’s shirts don’t leave much to the imagination.”

“I know,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Gods, I know -- do you have any idea how many times I wanked over those photos?” 

Harry looks down to disguise the flush on his cheeks, trying to ignore the heat swelling in his stomach. Louis has wanked over his photos. The guy he’s had a crush on for well over a year has wanked over photos of  _ him_. Maybe that’s weird to be excited by. But maybe Harry doesn’t care just now.

“It’s different in person, though,” Louis continues. “When it’s just a cosplay photo online I don’t get to do  _ this_.” He tugs his hands from Harry’s grip, running his fingers down Harry’s neck and along his chest. His other hand slides under the loose bottom of the shirt, the skin warm against Harry’s stomach, but it sets him shivering. 

“Stop it,” Harry says unconvincingly, swaying in place. “You can’t -- waffles, Lou.”

“That can be lunch,” Louis says. His hand slips around Harry’s neck. “I want  _ you  _ for breakfast.”

He tugs Harry down and Harry falls into him, their mouths slotting together as Harry catches himself on the bed. Louis hooks a leg around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer as he leans up into the kiss. Harry can barely breathe, barely wants to, he just wants to lose himself in this moment, in Louis’ hands and his mouth and his skin. 

But also. Waffles. 

It is with great effort and restraint that Harry peels himself off of Louis, still panting and slightly shaky. 

“You promised to show me the city,” Harry says, pointing a finger that would probably be a lot more threatening if it wasn’t trembling. “Don’t make an innuendo about exploring each other instead. You’ve lived here all your life, I know, but for me New York City is like… the Feywild or something. Otherworldly, inaccessible, beautiful and dangerous and enchanting. I want to  _ see  _ it, not just hear about it. You promised.”

Louis sighs. “I did,” he says. “And if this is the Feywild, I guess I’d better keep my promises. But you make it hard.” He pushes himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to coax it into some kind of order. “Let’s go, then,” he says. “Before you start tempting me to sin again.”

~*~*~

The first thing Harry sees as he walks into the breakfast room is Gemma grinning broadly at them from a table near the door. 

“I wondered if you two were going to make it downstairs,” she says. “I hope your night was… restful?” The grin widens just a touch

Harry tries to fight back a blush, though he knows it’s a losing battle. “It was, actually,” he says. “We hung out, talked for a while, then fell asleep. It was nice.”

Gemma laughs. “I’m sure that was all you got up to,” she says, looking pointedly at Louis’ wrinkled suit. “Sounds very wholesome.”

“It  _ was_,” Harry says again. He knows Gemma probably won’t believe them, but it was. “Honestly, Gems, it was just great to finally meet him. Get to know him properly.”

“Where properly is... Biblically?”

Harry is about to continue arguing, for whatever small good it might do, but Louis cackles from beside him. “Oh, I like your sister,” he says. “A smartass after my own heart.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand tightly, though he can’t help smiling. “Oi, hands to yourself,” he says. “I called dibs first. Besides, she can’t remember which twin is Vex and which is Vax.”

Louis laughs again. “Oh, well in that case,” he says. “Sorry -- Gemma, was it? Guess I’ll have to stick with Harry here.” 

“He’s a pretty good choice,” Gemma agrees. “Even if he does steal my mascara. And drop it in the toilet.”

“That was  _ one time_,” Harry protests. “I was  _ seven_.”

Gemma just smiles and pokes Harry teasingly in the arm, before turning her attention back to Louis. “I hear you’re a big brother, so I assume you know the drill -- treat him right, and I won’t have to treat you wrong; make him cry, and I’ll return the favour.”

“Sounds fair,” Louis says, grinning. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, ma’am.” He doffs an imaginary hat, bowing deeply, and now it’s Gemma’s turn to laugh. 

“I like him,” she says. 

Harry rolls his eyes, grin still firmly in place. “Are you two finished?” he asks. “Honestly, who exactly is dating who here?”

Gemma shrugs. “I’m finished if he is.” 

A grin threatens to spread across Louis’ face. “There’s a joke in there about what we didn’t finish-”

Harry slaps a hand over Louis’ mouth, tugging him away. “There may be, but you are not going to make it to my sister,” he says. 

“Bye, Louis!” Gemma calls, waving. “We should do this again sometime.”

Harry tugs them both towards the breakfast bar, hand still pressed tight to Louis’ face. When Louis licks his hand, Harry jumps, but keeps the hand in place. He glares at him, though he knows it’s not the least bit believable. “Are you going to behave?” he asks.

Louis nods.

“Fine.” Harry pulls his hand away, wiping it through Louis’ hair. “Dork.”

“Goof.”

“Dweeb.”

“Waffle-lover.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Is it supposed to be?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

Louis smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “But you’re the one who picked me.”

Harry looks up at him sidelong, glancing up and down his body. “I did,” he says. “I think I picked pretty well.”

~*~*~

It’s pretty much as close to a perfect day as Harry can imagine. Having Louis at his side -- holding his hand, whispering in his ear, smiling at his joy -- is a big part of that, but it’s also beautiful weather and just… everything is as amazing as he dreamed.

They emerge from the train in Grand Central Station, and it’s just so big and busy and  _ vibrant  _ that it takes Harry’s breath away. He could just stand and stare at the massive arched ceilings and the rivers of people passing through for hours. But there is so much more to see. So he turns to Louis, who is watching him with a wide grin, and asks -- “What’s next?”

“We go outside,” Louis says. “And you see New York.”

And they do. Harry gapes at the beautiful Chrysler Building, the massive Empire State Building, the iconic Times Square. They grab lunch at a little French place Louis knows, and eat it as a picnic in Central Park. They hit so many museums that Harry’s head almost spins with it. 

As the evening falls, they descend into the subway, Louis leading the way through tunnels and trains until they emerge in an entirely new part of the city. Harry wonders how he navigates it so easily and confidently when it all looks the same, but Louis always seems to know exactly where they are and where they’re going.

When they step inside the restaurant Louis has picked for dinner, Harry stops dead. “Louis, I can’t -- this is too fancy.”

Louis’ hand presses into the small of Harry’s back. “It’s fine, Harry,” he says softly. “It’s -- I wanted to treat you. This is one of the best Asian fusion places in the city.” He gives Harry a crooked smile. “Besides, I’ve been told there might be a lot riding on this dinner. Gotta make sure I impress.”

Harry swats at him, not looking or really even caring if the blow connects. “Shut up,” he says, with as much lack of force behind the words as the hit. “You know I’m a sure thing. This is -- holy  _ shit,  _ Louis.”

“Relax.” Louis pulls Harry to face him. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I don’t -- we can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable. I just -- I wanted to make your one day in New York special. I wanted to make your one day with me special.”

Harry stares at him for a long moment, mind still reeling, trying to find the words. At last he just pulls him in and kisses him. “You’re amazing,” he says. “This is -- you didn’t have to do this. It was already special, just to be here, just to see everything and spend time with you.”

“I didn’t have to,” Louis says, shrugging. “But I wanted to.” He pauses for a second. “Also, this was originally going to be when I asked you out properly. You know, back before I found out that you were at the wedding. When I didn’t know that we were going to dance together and then kiss and then spend the night in your hotel room. I thought you might need more wooing.”

“Shut up,” Harry says again, slapping his chest softly and then pressing another kiss to his mouth. “Okay. Holy shit. Let’s do this.”

Louis’ smile might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

~*~*~

“I think the subway entrance is down there,” Harry says, pointing down the street to the now-familiar(ish) sign.

Louis turns but doesn’t stop walking. “It is,” he says. “But that’s not where we’re going. Not yet.”

“There’s  _ more?_” Harry doesn’t want to complain, everything Louis has shown him has been wonderful, but his feet are starting to ache again, even after the rest during dinner. “Is it far?”

“It’s not far,” Louis promises. “And this is the last thing. It won’t take long -- or, well. It doesn’t have to.” He smiles. “Besides, there’s a fantastic cookie dough place near here. We could grab dessert.”

Harry isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to eat again -- the restaurant food was as delicious as it was fancy, and he stuffed himself fit to burst. He’d been planning to curl into Louis’ side and nap on the train back to the hotel. 

But on the other hand. Cookie dough. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Harry says, smiling. 

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Lucky or cute?”

“Both.” 

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t mean to complain. This has been an amazing day. I think I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

Louis’ hand slips into his. “I know,” he says. “But I don’t think you’ll want to skip this. Trust me.”

Harry laughs. “I do,” he says. 

And so it is that twenty minutes later, Harry finds himself standing, cookie dough in hand, in front of a nondescript brick and plaster building -- that is absolutely covered in rainbow flags. He reads the words that glow in the window a second time, a third. 

_ The Stonewall Inn. _

“This is…” He trails off, not sure how to complete the sentence. “You were right. Thank you.” He takes another step towards the building, still almost unable to believe it’s there. “This is… history. This is where so much began. Wow. It feels like -- a queer pilgrimage.”

“I come at least a couple times a year -- during pride month, or sometimes when I’ve had a bad day,” Louis says, and Harry can hear the same awe in his voice even after all those visits. “It always feels like coming home, somehow. It always reminds me how far we’ve come. And it reminds me how many people have my back.”

Harry kisses him. It feels like gratitude. It feels like rebirth. It feels like a memorial. It feels like rebellion. It feels like coming alive. It feels like standing on the shoulders of giants. It feels like a political statement. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It feels like love.

~*~*~

The whole train ride home, Harry keeps turning to kiss Louis. And Louis keeps kissing back, tongue and teeth and taste. Their hands keep slipping lower than is perhaps entirely wise or proprietous for their public setting. And they keep stopping, faces flushed, pants tight, fingers twitching.

It’s even harder in the cab to the hotel, and Harry has to keep reminding himself that the driver can in fact see them. In the elevator, Louis presses him against the wall, kissing him senseless, so similar to last night and yet so different. Last night was frantic and eager, and this is… well, it’s that too, but this time it’s knowing. It’s intentional. It’s not just a passionate, inebriated hookup. It’s sure. It’s real. And even knowing that tomorrow night, Harry will be on a flight back across the ocean, they also know that this won’t end there. 

Harry pushes Louis down the hallway, mouths never separating, already fumbling with his belt. They pull apart just long enough for Harry to unlock the door, and as soon as it swings open Louis’ mouth is back on Harry’s and then they’re inside and then Harry is pressed against the wall and he could keep kissing Louis like this forever and be more than happy.

But also. He has one or two other ideas. So after a minute or so, he pushes Louis back towards the bed. 

Louis moves willingly, pulling Harry down onto the blankets with him. Harry rolls his hips against Louis’, and Louis’ hands roam along Harry’s back.

Every touch from Louis makes him shiver, makes him dizzy, makes him want more -- to feel Louis on every inch of his skin, forever. He reaches for the buttons of his shirt, wanting less stupid cloth between them, but Louis’ hands catch his. 

“Let me,” Louis murmurs.

Harry shudders, warmth running through his whole body. He lets Louis push him onto his back, lets him climb on top, straddling him. His breath comes fast as Louis’ bum presses against Harry’s groin in a way that is both beautiful and maddening. Can Louis feel how hard he is already? The grin on his face says he can, that he knows exactly what he’s doing and has Harry exactly where he wants him.

Louis’ fingers are slow and meticulous as he carefully undoes the shirt, one button at a time. Harry tries not to squirm, tries not to pant, tries not to plead at Louis’ torturously slow movements. But he wants more. He wants and he wants and he  _ wants_, in a way that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. 

It feels like an eternity before Louis finally undoes the last button, peels the opened shirt away from Harry’s sweat-sticky skin. He presses his hands to Harry’s stomach, and Harry groans, shivering. 

“Louis, please,” he begs, and then Louis’ mouth is on his, hot and wet and open, Louis’ tongue pressing into his mouth and Harry  _ keens_, Louis swallowing the noise. “Fuck, Louis, I can’t --  _ fuck_.”

“You can’t fuck?” Louis is merciless.

Harry rolls his hips upwards against Louis’ bum by way of answer, and he feels the way Louis falters against him. He pulls his mouth away from Louis’ fastening his lips to Louis’ neck, nipping at the skin. Louis pants, his fingers scrabbling at Harry’s skin. 

“Okay,” he says. “Fuck, Harry, you’re -- fuck.”

Harry laughs, through it’s more of a gasp. “I am,” he agrees. He slides his fingers under Louis’ t-shirt, pushing it upwards. “Now stop teasing me and get this thing off.”

Louis obeys so quickly Harry isn’t entirely sure the shirt doesn’t rip. A short life, given they only purchased it that afternoon, in the second museum’s gift shop after Louis got tired of his formal button-down. But what a life.

The thought is quickly driven from his mind as Louis’ mouth finds his again, pressing him down and down into the mattress, and Harry falls down and down into Louis and he never wants to find his way to the surface again. 

Tomorrow, things will change. Tomorrow, they will have to figure out what their future looks like. Tomorrow, they will have to have hard conversations and harder goodbyes. But that’s for tomorrow to worry about. Tomorrow can wait.

Right now, they have this moment. Right now, they have each other. Right now, there is nothing else in the entire world that matters. 

~*~*~

Louis grips Harry’s hand so tightly in the airport terminal that it feels like it will fall off, like Harry will leave it behind, along with the part of his heart that he has tucked into Louis’ chest for safekeeping. 

“Text me as soon as you land,” Louis whispers.

“I will,” Harry says, just as softly, his throat just as tight. “And I’ll call when I get home.”

“I don’t care what time it is.”

“I know.”

He throws himself into Louis’ arms for one last hug, and Louis holds him so tightly it feels like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of it. Harry breathes in, trying to savour the smell of Louis’ skin and his shampoo.

“We’ll figure out a time for me to come visit,” Louis says. “It’s my turn.”

“You’re always welcome in our home,” Anne says, and Harry pulls away to look at her. He’d almost forgotten she was there. Gemma is actually being discreet for once, pretending to fiddle with their luggage a few feet away. 

Anne smiles at Louis. “I know we haven’t spoken much, but my son has talked about you a lot. And he generally has good taste in people.”

Louis shifts from foot to foot, like he’s trying not to bow. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope I can measure up to his praise.”

Anne laughs. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she says. “Just keep him smiling like that, and I think we’ll get along fine.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I’m going to make sure our things are ready for the security line. We should head in soon.”

Harry feels the tears he’s been trying to hold back start to pool again as she walks over to their bags. He presses his face to Louis’ hair, feeling Louis’ fingers tracing patterns on his back. 

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers. 

“I don’t want you to.”

“It feels like we just got started, just figured everything out, just found each other, and now... it’s over.”

“It’s not over,” Louis says, his voice steady and certain. “It’s just… different. For a bit.”

“I know,” Harry says. He’s definitely crying now, tears slipping down his cheeks, soaking into Louis’ hair. “I’m just going to miss you, is all. Especially now that I know what I’m missing.”

He feels Louis’ fingers brush through his hair, tugging his head back so Louis can meet his eyes. Harry smiles through the tears, genuine and real, because how can he not smile when Louis looks at him like that?

Louis presses his lips to Harry’s, soft and sweet and lingering, and Harry clings to him like he’ll never have to let go. He wonders how long the people passing by think they’ve been together -- probably years rather than days. Someday, those people will be right. He’s sure of it. 


End file.
